Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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\1. MANNING, S. C., WEDNESDAYI, MARCH 193 1890.NO16 The Haunted Chamber. BY "TIE DUCHESS." Author of "Monica.," "Mona Scufy, "Phyllis," etc., etc. CILUrER. IV. It is the evening of the theatricals; and in one of the larger drawing-rooms at the castle, where the stage has been vriwcted, anl also in another room be hind conne cted with it by folding do1rs, everybody of note in the county is :dready assedbled. Fans are flutter hin-so are many hearts behind the secves-and a low buzz of conversa tio n is being carried on among the com Then the curtain rises; the fans stop rustling. the conversation ceases, and all faces turn curiously to the small but perfect stage that the London work mien have erected. Every one is very anxious to see what his or fier neighbor is going to do when brought before a critical audience. No body, of course, hopes openly for a break-down, but secretly there are a fe w who would be ghi1d to see such-and such a one's pride lowered. No mischance, however, occurs. The insipid Tony speaks his lines perfectly, if lie fails to grasp the idea that a little acting thrown in would be an improve ment; a very charming cousin Con is iadec out Of Miss Villiers; a rather st ited but strictly correct old lady out off L.ady Gertrudi Vining. But 'Flor enee helmaine, ais KateA Hardcastle, leaves nothing to be de_?ed, and many are the complimentary speeches utterea from time to time by the audience. Arthur I)ynecourt too~ had not over praised his own powers. It is palpable to every-one that he has often trod the boards, and the pathos he throws into his performance astonishes the an dience. Is it only acting in the final 'ene when he niakes love to Miss zlardcastle. or is there some real senti ment in it. The question arises in many breasts. They note how his color caanges as he takes her hand. how his voice trembles; thrv notice too how she grows cold, in spiti of her desire to carry out her part t be end. as he grows warmer, and hiw instinctively she shrinks froum his touc;. Then it is all over. id the cur ti galls amidst l6ud zvi:: :se. Flor -i nomes be.Ore the 'cuiain in re sys-se to frequent calls, gracefull half rehictantry, with a soft warm blu upon her cheeks and a light in her.eyes that renders her remarkable loveliness only more apparent. Sir Adrian, watching her with a heart faint and cold with grief and disappointment, ac knowledges sadly to himsel" that never has he seen her look so beautiful. She advances and bows to tie audience, and only loses her self-possession a very little when a bouquet directed at her'feet by an enthusiastic young man alights upon her shoulder instead. Arthur Dynecourt, who has accom panied herto the footlights, and who joins in her triumph, picks up the bou quet and presents it to her. As he does so the audience again be-. comes aware that she receives it from him in a spirit' that suggests detesta tion of the one that hand~s it, and that her smile -withers as she does so, and her great eves lose their happy light of a moment before. Sir Adrian sees all this too, but per suades himself that she is now acting another part-the part shown him by Mrs. Talbot. His eves are blinded by jealousy; he can not see the purity ani truth reflected in hers; he misconstrues the pained expression that of late has sadldened her face. For the last few days, ever since her momentous interview with Arthur D.;vnecourt in the gallery. she has been ttinid and reserved with Sir Adrian, and has endeavored to avoid his socie t y. She is oppressed with the thought that he has read her secret love for lhim and seeks, by an assumed coldness of demeanor and a studied avoidance of him, to induce him to believe himself mistaken. But Sir Adrian is only rendered more miserable by this avoidance, in the thought that probably Mrs. Talbot has told Florence of his discover of her attachment to Arthur, and tat she dreads his taxing her with her duplici tv. and so makes strenuous efforst keep herself apart from him. They have already drifted so far apart that to-night. when the play has come to an eud, and Florence has'retired from the dressing-room, Sir Adrian does not dIream of approaching her to offer the cogauain on her success that he ws. dd have showered upon her in a 1.a :eier hour. Fiorence. feeling lonely and de -resed, having listlessly submitted to 1er maid's guidance and 'change her stage gown for a pale blue ball~ of satin and pearls--as dancing is to suic (eed the earlier amusement of the evening-goes~ silently down-stairs, but, istead of pursuing her wa -to the ball room, where dancing has aready comn mienced, she turns aside, and, entering a small, dimly lighted antechamber, sinks wearily upon a satin-covered lounge. From a distance the sweet strains of a Germani waltz comes to her ears. There is deep sadness and melancholy in the music'that attunes itself to her own sorrowful rellectionis. Presently the tears steal down her cheeks. She feels lonely and neglected, and, bur ing her head in the cushions of te lounge, sobs aloud. She does not hear the hasty approach of footsteps until they stop close beside -her, and a-voice that makes her pulse throb madly says, in deep agitation "Florence-Miss Delmamne-what has happened? What has occdrred to dis tress you?" Sir Adrian is bending over her, evi dentlv in deep distress himself. As she starti, he places his arm round her and raises her to a sittiflg posture; this he does so gently that, as she remembers all she has heard, and his cousin's as surance that he has almost plede himself to another, her tears ffow afresh. By a supreme effort, however, she controls herself, and says, in a faint voice "I am very foolish; it was the heat, I suppose, or the nervousness of acting betore so many strangers, that has up set me. It is over now. I beg you wl not remember it, Sir Adrian, or speak of it to any one." All this time she has not allowed her self to glance even in his direction, so fearful is she of further betraying the mental agony she is enduring. "Is it likely' I should speak of it!" re turns Sir Adrian reproachfully. "No; anything connected with you shall be sacred to me. But-pardon me-I still thinlk you are in grief, and, believe me, in spite of everythig, I would deem it a privilege to be allowed to befriend you in any way." "It is impossible." murmurs Flor ence, in a stfned tone. "You mean you will not accept my help"-sadly. 'ISo be it then. I have no rinht. I know. to establish myself as your enanllinon. ?Lnete are oneI, n doubt, whose happiness lies in the fact that th~ey may render you a service when it is in their power. I do not complain, however. - Nay, I would even ask you to look upon me at least as a frienid." "I shall always regard you as a friend," Flecence responds in a low voice. "It would be impossible to me to look upon you in any other light." "Thank you for that." says Adrian qiklv. "Though our lives must of necessity be much apart, it will still be a comfoi-t to me to know that at least, wherever you may be, you will-think of me as a friend.? "Ah,." thinks Florence. with a bitter ang, "neIs nowv trying to let nme Knw i ow absurd was my former idea that t he might perhaps 'learn to love me!" J This thouglit is almost insupportable. Her pride rising in arms. she subdues f all remaining traces of her late emo- g tion. and, turning suddeily, confronts p him. Her face is quite ccelorless, but 1R she can not altogether hide from him v the sadess that still desolates her za eyes. "You are right," she agrees. "III the a future our lives will indeedI be far dis- s tant from each other. so far anart that 14 the very tic of friendship will readily p be forgotten by us both." dia "Florence, do not say that' he en- v treats, believing in his t irn that she v alludes to her coming marriage with his cousin. "And-and-do not be an- e gry with me; but I would ask you to tI consider long and earnestly before tak- h ing the step vou have in view. Re- i member it is' a bond that once sealed 9 can never be canceled." h "A bond! I-do not follow you," ex- n claims Florence bewildered. ~ "Ah, you will not trust me; you will not confide in me:" h "I have nothing to confide," persists h Florence, still deeply puzzled. a "Well, let it rest so,' returns Adrian, o now greatly wounded at her deter- s mined reserve, as he deems it. He calls to mind all Mrs. Talbot had said about h her slvness, and feels dishea-rtened. At b least 'he has not deserved distrust at si her hands. "Promise me," he entreats 1v at last. "that, if ever you are in danger, b you will accett my help." fc "I promise. she replies faintly. Then d trying to rally her drooping spirits, she li continues, with an attempt at a smile, a: "Tell me that you will accept mine should you be in any danger. Remem ber, the mouse once rescued the lion!" c -and she smiles again, and gl: ces at fi him with a touch of her old archness. "It is a bargain, And now, will you i rest here awhii; until you feel quite re- gI stored to calnuiess? ~S "But you must not remain with me." e, Florence urges hurriedly. "Yow guests are awaiting you. Probably -with a tr faint smile-"vour partner for this as waltz is impatiently wondering what has become of vou.' C< "I think not. Aavs Adrian. returning di her smile. "Foriunately I have no tc one's narue on my card for this waltz. m, I say fortunatefv. because I think"- le glancing at hier tenderly--I have been c able to bring back thie smiles to your face sooner than would have beeii the sI case had you been left here alone to sr brood over your trouble, whatever it s may be." ni "There is no trouble." declares Flor- iI ence, in a somewhat distressed fashion, yo turning her head restlessly to one side. w "I wish you would dispossess yourself vt of that idea. And. do not stop here, 'a thevy-very one. will accuse you of dis courtesy if you absent yourself from la the balf-room any longer." ho "Then. come with me." savs Adrian. "See. this waltz is only just 'begiining of give it to me." fa Carried away by his manner, she lays v her hand upon his arm, and goes with him to the ball-room. There he passes qu his arm around her waist,'hnd present- h ly they are lost among the throng of s whirling dancers, and both give them selves up for the time being to the t mere delight of knowing that they are st together. e. Two people, seeing them enter thus c together, on apparent friendly terms, lo regard themwith hostile glances. Dora te Talbot, who is coquetting sweetly with ri a gaunt man of middle age, who is evi- co dently overpowered by her attentions, letting her eyes rest upon Florence as she waltzes past her with Sir Adrian, lo( colors warmly, and, biting her lip, for- sic gets the honeyed speech she was about ha te bestow upon her companion, who is the owner of a considerable propertyt is and lapses into silence, for whic the D gaunt man is devoutly grateful, as it bJ gives him a moment in which to reflect on the safest means of getting rid of ro her without delay. -e Dora's fair brow grows darker and te darker as she watches Florence, and notes the smile that lights on her beau- S" tiful face as she makes some answer to in; one of Sir Adrian's sallies. Where is tat Dyecourt, that he has not been on the hi topeent this dance, she won She grows angry, and would M have stamped her little foot with im- dv patient wrath at this moment but for en the fear of displaying her veration. he As she is inwardly anathematizing. Arthur, he emerges from the throng, ni; and, the dance being at an end, re- 4ro minds Miss Delmaine that the next is S his. he Florence urwillingly removes her ag hand from Sir Adrian's arm, and lays to. it upon Arthui-'s. Most disdainfully she moves away with him, and suffers de him to lead her to another part of the ja room. Mid when she dances with him, ,in it is with evident reluctance, as he bt knows by the fact that she visibly as shrinks from him when he encircles her waist with his arm. s Sir Adrian, who has noticed none of w. lisher~ hand for thisance.Drs-s 'You are not engaged, I hope?" he se saya anxiously. It is a kind of wretch- in ed comfort to him to be near Florence's lb true friend. If not the rose, she has m at least some connection with it. 2 "I am afraid I am," Dora responds, st raising her limpid eyes to his. ".Naugh- es tman why did you not come sooner? Tthougit you had forgotten' me alto gether, and so got tired of keeping bar- t ren spots upon my eard for you. "I couldn-t hel it-I was engaged. A man in his own house has always a bad_ time of it looking after the impossible people," says Adrian evasively. . et "Poor Fl'orence! Is she so vey im- t possible?" asks Dora, laughing, but HI pretending to reproach him. "I was not speaking of Miss Del maine," says Adrian. flushing hotly. g' "She is the least impossible personr y. se ever met. It is a privilege to pass onie's time with her." t "Yet it is with her you have passed- I ic the last hour that you hint has been devoted to bores," returns Dora quietly. A This is a mere feeler, but she throws it c out with such an air of c'ertainty that at Sir Adrian is completelv deceived, and is believes her acquainted' with his tete-a e ete with Florence in the dimly lit ante- vi room. "Well," lie admits, coloring again, s "your cousin was rather upset by her r acting, I think. and I just staved, with her until she felt equal to jonuniig us j y Af~excianrus Dora. who now knows all she had wanted to know. "But you must not tell mec vou hav e no dances left for me," says Adrian. gayly. "Come. let me see your carda I He l'ooks at it. and finds it indeed full.$ "I am ain unifoirnate." he adds.n "I think," says D~ora. with the pret tiest .hesitatioh. "if vou are sure it 'would not be an unkind thing to do. could scratch out this name"-pointini to her partner's for the cominig dance.I "I am not sure at all." responids Sir h Adrian, laughing. "I am positive it ' will be awfullv uinkind of you to de- ! prive any felloir of your society; but be unkind, and scratch him out for myn; sake." Hie speaks lightly, but her heart be'ats high with hope. "For your sake." she repeats softly drawing her pencil across the name written on her programme and substi tuting his. "But you will give me more than this one daince?" queries Adrian. '"Is therea nobody else vou can condemn to nmis ery out of all that list?" "You are insatiable," she returns, blushing and growing confused. "But vou shall have it all your owin way. lIere"-giving him her card-"take wvhat waltzes von will." She w;alt'zes to perfection, and she knows it. y "Then this, and this, and this," says ; o .A.\an. sriking out three 'mmes on I er cara, after whieh th" ic mve away ogether and miingle with the other ancers. In the meantime. Florence growing atigued, or disinclined to dance lon er with Dynecourt. stops abruptly ear the door (if a conscrvat)ry, and, aiiing against the framework, gazes -ith listless interest at the busy scene raund. "You are tired. Will -on rest for while?" asks Arthur politely; and, as ie bends he..r head in cold consent, he ads her to a cihioned seat that is laced almost opposite to the door-way. ad from which the hall-room and hat is passing within it _-e distinctly isible. Sinking down aniongst the hhie Ishions of the seat he has pointed out > her. Flporence ihs softly. and lets er thougits runi, ;ilf sadlfi half glad upon lier late intervtew with Sir .rlian. At least.,.f he has g'uessed' Lar secret. site kiiows now that Yie does nt despisv her. Thcre is no trace of mntempt in the geontenes.s. the tender ess of his in:nn-r. .\int hoW kindly has told lier I: iteled change his life: "ThiI. ::ihs would lie far sunder for the fuhire." he had said, -something tantamount to that. Ile oke no doubt of his coming marriage. Then she begins to speculate dreami upon the sort of woman who would happy enough to be his wirie. She is ill idly rininating on this point hen her companion's voice brings her ck to the present. She had so far rgotten his existence in her day eaiIng that his words come to her Ke a whiser from some other world, ]d oai her an actual shock. Your lioughtfulness reniders me l." he is saving impressively. "It rries you to regions wlire I canl not low vou." To tiis she makes n10 reply. regard g him only with a eahn questioning ance that might well have daunted a tter mai. It only nerves him how er to even bolder words. The jourmey your thoughts have ken-has it been a pleasant one?" he ks, smiling. "I have cone here for rest. not for nversation." There is undisguised slike in her tones. Still he is un uched by her svorn. Ile even grows ore defilii, as though determined to her see that even her avowe . a.tkred n not suhd1:e hii. "If voly knew." lie goes on. with nw meaning. regarding her as he eaks with critical admiration, "how rpassingly beautiful wvu look to gt. von 'wouild perhaps understand a degr" the power you possess over ur f -creaures. in that attitude, 10i thi' sia-ht touli of scorn upon l, his.: , -o:,! a meet partner for :iionarch. he hmg"''s a low Conllteliptuous 1ah. thi e!ven makes his bleod run f1 in his veins. i.nd Vet. you have the boldness to er oiirselfi as an aspirant to my vor?" she savs. "lin truth, sir, you hue yourself highlv:" -Love will find the way!" he quotes ickly. though plainly disconcerted by r merriment. "And in time I trust I all have mv reward." In time. I trust you will," she re rus. in a tone inipossible to niscon 1ue. .t this point he deems it wise to ange the subject: and, as he halts ther lamely in his conversation, at a s to find some topic that may inl est her or advance his cause, Sir Ad n and Dora pass by the door of the servatory. ;ir Adrian is smiling gayly at some tie speech of Dora's, and Dora is >king up at. him v:ith a bright expres in in her b.lue eves that tets ot the ppness she feels. 'Ai. I ean lot help thinking Adrian doing very Wisely. obser'.es Arthur. -necoMat. sm evi! gevi ii; at his el w urging him t is. 'Doing-what-" asks his cump'aniion, .ised sucinir~ into fllB life and in -est. You pretend igmnorance. no dout" .iing. "Utn~t ('ne cani see. A drian's i iage -:it Mrs. T lbot S ms een ked 2h,:'t for somie time aumonmgst initinui." X. else : :De ic'e seems to seize upon ss D::naine's heart as these words >p fromn his lits, She restrainis her totion blravely, but his ly ::x-eye reads c through ando through. 'They seeni to be molre together to [ht than is eLvenl usual with them," as n Arthur blanidly. "Biefore yon nored the room with Your presence, had danced twice wit'h her, and now in. It is very marked. his attention night." As a matter of fact Adlriani had not need with Mrs. Talbot all the even ountil now. but Florence. not hay Sbeen present at the opening of the .11, is not in a position to refute this, hie well knows. If there is anything in her friend ip with Sir Adrhin I feel sure Dora Mld have tol me of it." she says 'And she hasn't?" asks Arthur with much surprise and incredulity in his inner as goes far to etlinme her at there is somm' truth in his state ent. "Well, wvel." he adds. -one can it blame her. Sheo woul doubtless be re of his affectionm before speaking en to her dlearest friend." Florence wintees. id sinks bacok up Sthe seat :as though unable o sus inLn piht positionl any loniger. reri' word of his is as gall and worm md to' h~er. each sentene~ a reminder a reproach. Only the other day this ani now loside her hLil -ecused her main iir of0 Sir Ad\rian'is affec iii beo ... 'Ld any righit so to (10. erpod rit shiniks beneath the nli{ : au t be h'4ris 't. her.Y Xou1 '" L unsually ':'lie up!,' neC :s on.I 1 in i of~IiN asue cmms 'ration.Io -Thi eInig ims been too uch for you. Actin.mja part at any ne is e ktremely trym gi nd labor She shrtinks still furither from him. ling a part: Is niot all 1her life be ming one dlrearv (drama. in which she ts a part trom'morniing until night? there to lbe no rest fo.r her? Oh. to cape from this man at any price! She is to her feet. "Our dan~ce is almost at an end," she xs; "ind' the hea~t is te'rrlile. I cnn inil I~ere no longer." "You mI e ill." going to heir side. iI oul have supipor'ted hern' but by a ~sture she ret .1 him. If I am. it is you whlo have made me "shte retorts. w ithi quick pasiiSon,. for hieh she despises heruself ain instant ter'. Nav. nit I." he rejioins. "bat what youi. !m not t'amne mae. I thought >n as wiell as every one else here. icew of Adiri:imi's setIits with re utd to Mri1s. 'Talot." This: is tLO nmuch for' heri. D~rawing rself" up to her full height. Florence i ss a ghuice of anmger' and defiance ini s diree-t:iii, amid. swee'pinig past him her miost buIIeiimsi fashion. appears > ore that night. It is :tn earil :ii' v. all things con '!em'ed, amid .ioi'a'Tihoit~. tgoittg to lier >mif ablout two (I'loch. stops'~ hetor'e '(rence' s door amnd knocks softly "Tome ini." caill Flo renice genitl . "I havi' just sto'pp~ed for a muomenit to press thle hope that von ai'e not ill, aest ." says smootli-tjntgued Dora. .vacin'tg to~wards lieu. -Ilow early m le'ft us' I shouldn't have known ow early oniv Mr~i. Dvnecourt told me. re von sure von are n1ot ill' "ot in the'least, only a little fatigu I" replied Florence c'almly. "Ahi, no womnder, with youi' exertions fore the dancing commenceed, and >ur unqumalified success! You reigned rer everybody. darlinig. Nobody could even1ng withl you. Your acn g was simply superb." "Thank you " says Florence. who is not in bed, 'but 'is sitting in a richair drawn near a window, through which the moonbeams are linging their Pale rays. She is clad in a clinging white dressing-gown that makes her beauty saintlike, and has all her long hair fall ing looselv round her shoulders. "What a charming evening it has been!" exclaims Dora ecstatically, I clasping her hands, and leaning her arms on the back of a chair. "I hardly know when I felt sothoroughly happy. Florence s1iudders visiblv. "You en 'oved vourself. of course?" continues ora. '-Everv one raved about vou. You made at least a d'ell coiqlsts; k - -: half a oi(,--" witl a careful hes-I itanos' . . he r mnneir iloedto im press her lias:er---s ""mu'h a poor ittle insign ifl':au n1w rim A t. Florence looks at Ler:r ' oningly. "I think one reill b.nev lover is worth a tolt!n l:ers."' ss, her voice trIi ). Do) ylu m ie to uindersta k. -a. tilt .t have Florenlce', w "Iocle soul semd to hang on her coi:si' . answver. I ;ra simpers, and tries to !,u t . . .: reia-t grows a shade paler. She is playing for a high stake, and fears to risk a throw lest it may be ventured too soon. "Oh. you must not ask too much!" she replies, shaking her blonde head. "A. lover-no! lHow% can you be so ab surd! And Tet I think- hope-" "I see!" interrupts Florence sadly. "Well, I will be as di.sereet as you wish; but at least, if what I imagine be true, I can congratulate you with all my heart, because I know-I know you will bc happy." Going over to Mrs. Talbot, she lays her arms round her neck and kisses her softly. As Slie does so, a tear falls from her eyes upon Dora's cheek. There is so rmuch sweetness and aban donment of self in this action that Do ra for the moment is toucLed 13y.it. She puts up her hand; and, Wiping away th'e tear from her cheek as tliugh it burns l:er. says lightly "But indeed, imy dearest lio. vou must not inagi~e anything. Alf is vague. I- hardly know what it is to which I am alliling. -Trifies light as air' float through my brain, and glad den me in spite of-my common sense, which whispers that they mean noth ing. Do not build castles for me that may have their existence only en Es pain1c." "They seem very bright castles," ob seies lorence wistfully. "A bad omen. 'All' that's bright must fade sings the poet. And now to speak of yourself. You enjoyed yourself?" "Of course"-mechanically. "Ah, ves; I was glad to see you had made it up with poor Arthur Dyne court!" "How?" demands Florence, turning upon her quickly. "I saw you dancing with him, dear est; I was with Sir Adrian at the time, and from somethinr he said. I think he would be rather peased if you could bring yourself to reward poor Arthur's long devotion." "8ir Adrian said that? He discussed 1 me with you?" "Just in passing, you understand. He told me too that you were some what unhappy in the earlier part of the evening, and that he had to stay a con siderable time with you to restore you to calmness. He is always so kind, dear Adrian!" "He spoke of that?" demands Flor ence, in a tone of anguish. If he had made her emotion a subject of common talk with Mrs. Talbot, all indeed is at an end between them. even that sweet I visionary offer of friendship he had made to her. No; she could not sub mit to be talked about by him, and the woman he loves! Oh; the bitter pang it costs her to say these words to her elf! That he now loves Dora seems to er mind beyond dispute. Is she not is confidante, the one in whom he hooses to repose all his secret thoughts and surmises? Dora regardls her cousin keenly.1 loren ce's evident agitation maker'her 1 fear that there was more in that tete-a t fete with Sir Adrian than she had at1 irst imagined. "Yes; why should he not speak of t?" Dora goes onc coldly. "I think by is mannier your want of self-control hocked hinm. You should have a1 reater commandl over yourself. It is1 ot good form to betray one's feelings1 o every chiance passer-by. Yes; I< hink Sfr Adrian was both surprised and astonished." "There was nothing to cause him ither surprise or astoInishment," says lorence haughtily; "and I could well1 ave wished him out of thle way!" "'Perhaps I misunderstood him," re oins .Dora artfully. *But certainly he poke to mel of bein. unpleasanltly (de ayed by-by impi~ossible people-those ere his very words; an d really alto ether-I may be wrong-I believe he ahnleId lo von. Of course. I would not folor the matter up, oecause, mucn as like Sir Adrian. I could not listen to im speaking.so lightly of yon!" "Of me-yon forget yourself, Dora!" ries Florene,. with pale lips, but head rect. "Speaking lightly of me!" she epeats. "Young menl are often careless in heir language," explains Dora hur iedly, feeling she ha~d gone too far. He meant niothling unkiid, you may e sure!" "I am quite sure"-Armly. "Then Mo harm is done"-smiling rightly. "And now, good-night, dear st; go to bed instead of sitting there ooking like a ghost in those mystical noonbeatms." "Good-night." says Florence icily. There is somethsing about her that causes Mrs. Talbot to feel almost afraid to approach and kiss her as usual. "Want of rest will spoil your lo'vely eyes," adds the widow airily: "and your complexion, faultless as it always 1s, will not be up to the mark to-morrow. So sleep, foolish child, and gather roses from your slumbers." So saying. sh~e kisses hler hand gavly to the unresponsive Florence, and trips lightly from the room. [Continued.] How Gold Rings Are Made. Gold rings are made from bars nine to lifteen inches long, two iniches wide and three-sixteenths of an inch thick. is worth $1,000, and wjll make 300 four p)ennyweight rings. A dloz.en prtocsses and twenty minutes' time are required to convert this bar into nmer chantable rings. First a pair of shears outs the bari inito strips; then by the turn of a wvheel a guillotine-like blade attached to1 the machine cuts the bsar into sliees, one, two, or three-sixtenths of an inch wide. A rolling macnee next presses out the slices andl makes theml either ilat or grooved. Fach strip is then put under a blow pipe and an nealed. The oxideC of copper comes to the surf~ace, aund is put into a pickle of sulphurie acid, after which the ring is stamped "14k," "1l6k," or "1l8k," ac c(rdin.g to quality. Next it is put throughl a machine which bends it into the shape of a ring of the size desired. Tle ends(1 are then soldered with an alloy of inferior lineness to the quality of tihe ring. Many peole think that rig~s are nmolded because they can't see whtere they are soldered. The ring spins thlroughi the turning lathe, , s rounlded, pared, and polished, first with 1 steel filings, then weth tripoli and uge.-_. L oie Reuhlic j I different things. The one is glad and I the other is sad-very sad. There is no gloom upon earth as dark as that: which hangs over broken vows. It brings a cankering, corroding sorrow that .reys upon the heart and ends only with death. Our people have long been blest with comparative free dom from the flood of divor ces that overrun the North. Illinois has only twice our population, but twelve times our number of divorces, and it is near ly as bad in all the Northern States They tie and they uutie at their pleas ure, but still they are unhappy becau:e the negro -an't voto. May the good Lord deliver us from .their miserable condition. BiLL Air. A BOLD GRAB FOR DIAMONDS. Five Thonsand Dollars' Worth Stolen at One Time. One of the boldest robberies that ever occurred in Texas took place Mon day night, at 0:30 o'clock, at 608 Main street, in the very heart of the city of Dallas. Domnar & Samuels are jewelers, and keep a magnificent display of costly goods behind the plate glass of their large show window. Within and without are electric lights, and the neighborhood is kept almost as light as day. While Mr. Domnar was waiting on a customer, he heard a terrific crash of the window, and turning bis eyes barely in time to see a tray of valuable diamond rings disappear, he ran out in an instant, but the thief had disappeared up the stairway at the side of his store. The break was made with a reck weighing twenty pounds, wrapped in paper. The tray contained foriy-two fine diamond rings, valued at about $5,000. The man who was a slender white man, about 5 feet 8 inches high, with out whiskers, and wore a black suit and light colored hat. After he ran up the stairs in front he was seen to descend to the street in the rear and go out through the alley. The sheriff and other officers followed with trained blood hounds and are now on his trail. FOR LOVE OF HAWES. Bessie Enright. of Birmingham, Attempts to End Her Life. Later developments in the case of Bessie Inwright, the young woman who tried to end her life Wednesday night, in a house on Third Avenue and Twen tieth street, by taking a dose of mor. phine, develops the fact that she did so through love of Dick Hawes. Bessie, it appears, is the woman who became so completely infatuated with Hawes duirng his confinement in the county jail, and who was in the habit of visiting him daily, mueh to the annoy ance of the jailer, who was often called upon to admit her to him two or three times a day. The woman's frequent visits to the j'il attracted ne little atten tion, but at the time very little was said about them. When the Supreme Court decided that Hawes must hang and the death watch was placed over him, Bessie was told that her visits to the celebrated criminal must cease. This information appeared to overcome her and she burst into tears, but finding her oeportuhities of no avail, after repeated fruitless visits to the jail, she finally abandoned all hope of seeing Hawes and took to sending him affectionate notes and handsome bouquets. .As the time for Hawes' execution drew near she grew morose and low spirited, kept her room a good deal of1 of the time and was disinclined to talk to any one. After the execution her grief was un bounded, but no fears were entertained that she would attempt to take her life, until she was discovered in her room suffering from a dose of morphine, and by prompt medical aid was brought back from the verge of the grave.-Bir mingham Age-Herald.1 A Brave Girl's .Aet. There is one brave girl in Charlotte.1 She is Miss Lula Smith, the pretty little1 fourteen-year-old daughter of Sheriff Z. , Smith. At 5 o'clock Monday after-1 noon Miss Lula was playing near the jail with some other children, when she happened to see a prisener slide out of the jail through a newly made hole in the wall. The little Miss knew that] would never do. so she ran quickly to the side of the jail and picked up a big stone. She began to pound a second kInky hea.d, poked nearly through the hole, and in tbe act of escaping. Only a few licks were necessary to drive the prisoner bacj:. Standing by the hole on the inside of the jail were a dozen prison ers ready to crawl through the hole and escape, but the little woman stood guard at the outside, dared. them to poke out their heads. She gave the alarm, and soon her father was on the scene and the prisoners all locked up in their cells. By some means or other the prisoners had cut a hole through the thick brick wall, and had it not been for Miss Lula a wholesale delivery would have resulted. The prisoner that succeeded in getting away was a negro boy, in for a trifling ottense. The Grady Monument. It has already be.en stated that the plan of Mr. Alexander Doyle, a New York architect, has been adopted for the monument of Mr. Henry W. Grady in Atlanta. The Constitution says Mr. Doyle's conception of the monu ment is a very beautiful one. It con sists of a square of granite surrounded by a low balustrade, from the centre of which rises an exquisitely proportion ed pedestal, and on this elevation stands a bronze figure of Mr. Grady in one of his most rnatural attitudes. On one side of the pedestal is a bronze figure of History, inscribing on her tablets the deeds of the brilliant editor, on the op posite side is a figure of the South, weeping bitterly because of the loss of a favorite son; the other two sides of the pedestal bear only a palm leaf and a wreath of immortelles, also wrought in bronze, Mr. Doyle has had more exoerience as a monumental artist than almiost any man of his years in America. Tbe Saratoga monumont, which is considered one of the finest works of art in the country, is the pro ductof his genius. The Jasper monu meat in Savannah and the Ben Hill monument in Atlanta were also designed by him. Mr.'Doyie was a strong ad mirer and a warm personal friend of Mr. Grady's, and his present work will receive his closest attention. Expeled F-rorn the Southern Society. NEW VORK, March 13.-Major Han cock Ciark, the man who shot Milton Randolph as a result of a quarrel at the Southern Society, a short time ago, was expelled last night from the society, after an investigation of the charges against him. Randolph, on the other hnd, was acquitted and exonerated. THE COPN CR,1PION. S(1ME FACTS ABOUT CAPTAIN DRAKE'S TRIUMPH. flow Two t!undre: and Fintr-tbree Ba.h eIn of Corn were Grown on (Ine Acre The Largest Ciop EvereKnown. Americar Agriculturist. The acre entered by Z. J. Drake was a sandy soil in Marlbo:ough County,South Carolina. The original growth was oak, hickory, and long leaf pine. Three years ago. before the land was improved, eight dollars per acre was a fair valuation, while thirty years ago, the plantation of which this acre is an average speci men was called by its owner "Starva tion's Empire " It had a gentle nlope, with northeru exposure, and was naturally weil drained. ?3he acre was a fair specimen of much of the poor land in the South, and its improve ment and productiveness affords an instructive lessou. As late as 1585, when it was in corn, it made a poor rop-practically nothing. In 18S6, he acre yielded about 300 pounds of aeed cotton, two dollars' worth of immoniated fertilizer being u.sed in the way common tb ordinary cotton ,ulture. The fertility was so reduced hat, in 1887, the yield of- corn was aot over five bushels per acre. But ow Mr. Drake undertook to improve t. To i rovide the vegetable matter )r humus so muon needed, the land was literily covered with rakings of leaves, straw, etc., from the neighbsr ing woods. On top of this, 2-> horse toads of stable manure were evenly spread broadcast; also, 75 bushels of .otton seed, 500 pounds of Wilcox, ibbes & Co's manipulated guano, 250 pounds of cotton seed meal, and 250 pounds of kainit This heavy Iressing was all plowed under with tarke's Dixie turning.plow. It was aid off in. rows with the same plow, ;wo furrows to the row,four feet apart; L00 pounds of guano were applied in :he furrows, and then each pair of fur 7ows were throw into a ridge with the tame plow. The Peterkin cAton was lanted with a Leytch cotton-planter, tnd made thte great crop of 917 pounds f lint cottoD on the acre, showing ,onclusively the result of the improve nent. Mr. Drake decided that this acre vas the one for him to enter in the orn conteEt, and he determined to make the biggeAt crop on record, sea on permitting. The last of February, herefore, he hauled upon the contest tcre fifty one-horse wagon-loads of table manure,averaging twenty bush -s to the load, or 1,000 bushels of ma iure in all,worth $50, to which should >e added four dollars for hauling and preading.' This was the droppings >f horses and mules, fed on corn and odder, and was not moved until haul d tq the acre. At the same time 500 younds of-mani, I e d iano, cotton ;eed meal, and kainit, were s r asted, and the whole was then p ow d under. Following the plow, whole otton-seed were literally strewn ia ch furrow,600 bushels being applied the acre. A subsoil plow came af er, breaking the soil to a total depth >f 12 inchea, and also burying the vhole cotton-seed deeper than the ther manure. Thus, the decaying reed should back up the crop later in ,he season when its roots had penetra ed below the first layer of manure. )ne horse and a man did the plowing, dse the subsoiling; both jobs being :ompleted in one day (March 1), at a otal expense of two dollars. The acre ws harrowed on the same day, with SThomassmoothing harrow, one man and two horses doing the work in ibout one hour. The next day, ach 2, the acre was laid oft, with he Starke plow, in cach row. The ows were alternately three and six eet apart-that is, there were six feet etween two rows, then three feet, hen six feet, and so on. The seed planted was ona bushel of he common Gourd variety of the souterM white dent corn, but it was strain that had been improved by wenty years of careful selection from he best of the corn grown on tnis lantation. The planting was done y four hands in half a day, on March , the weather being warm and the and moist. Five or six kernels were iropped to each foot of the row. The atter were five inches deep, but the ;eed was only covered lightly an inch ieep, by raking in the sides of the fur :ow. 11ain the next day washed in ore soil, and covered the seed rather leeply. There were good rains March 0 and 15, the plants began to show on de 16th, and by the 25th there was a olerably good stand. On April 8 the rop was heed for the first time, thin ed to one stalk every five or six aches, and the few missing places re - lanted. On the 20th, thejwide spa ,es (six feet) between thelalternate owe were plowed out with the sub oi plow. Then a mixture, comp-.s d of 200) pounds each of manipulated ~uano, kainit, cotton-seed meal, acid hosphate, and animal bone, was venly applied by sowing in each fur row (thus confining this application of plant food to the wide spaces), after which the whole acre was gone over with a Thomas harrow- There was rain on the 24th, and two days later :he crop was again harrowed with the rhomas harrow. Now, on May 15, ;he narrow or three foot rows were slowed out with tse sub-soiler. and 00 pounds of nitrate of soda was sow 3d in those rows, and worked in with ,~hand harrow or -.-utivator. On the 25th, the Thomas harrow wvas run bhrough the wide rows, to break the rust. It will be seen that by thia ime the soil was not only well fill with plant-food, but had been taum ughly cultivated on the surface. and alo well worked underneath by theC ub-soiplow, so tha t the whole soil was not only full of fertility, but was in that light and open condition ihat best facilitates root growth. To. stimulate further root development, especially in the wide spaces between the alternate rows, where there wa: more room for this purpose, three fur: rows were run, side by side, in the middle of the wide rows, with the sub-soil plow, and 205 pounds of ma nipulated guano was applied in these frrows, the rows, then being worked by a Thomas harrow. The next day there was about an inch of rain, about six inches of rain fell four days later, and on June 2 the land was slightly stirred with a hoe. A little earth was hoed into the corn making the laud about level. There was more rain June 4 and 5, and, en the Sth three furrows were again turned in the mid dle of the wide rows, this time with ~ 2e-inch Campbell sweep. Now~i, 500 pounso a mixtur composed of equ. parts of manipulated guano, cotton-seed .Leal and kainit was strewn ix the wide spaces, and the corn on the entire field was hoed." Rain came the next day, but, on June 11th, IOU pounds of nitrate of so.da was'sowed in the narrow rows and hoed in The crop was now a wonderfalsi&ght It soon became necessary to put up posts'and nail slats to them, on each, side of the row, to prevent the corn falling. No hilling was done but the whole acre was kept perfectly level.7 Arrangements for irrigating had bben made,4ut the season was early and. wet, as compared with other y rains followed I requently, and no ir - gation was necessary. In fact, as Mr. Drake says, " he season was the mos favorable for corn I ever saw." TheZ fame of the contest acre spread far and wide,; and farmers and planters came from all parts of Marlbor- and and adjoiring counties to behold it. Our engraviig, from a dim photograph, gives but an incomplete idea of is tremendous crop. P. L Breeden, a great eotton-planter, and one of thdn ao ;t progressive farmers in the State says it was "a wonder to behold." S. A. Brown, editor of the Marlboro Democrat, writes: "The harvest was indeed a criosity. One laborer told us that the crop, when pulled, was knee deep on the ground. The yield was not much of a suiprise to those who visited the crop while growing. , Some Marion county farmers pu the estimate at about three hundred bushels. [Copyright 1890.] General Southern News. The Chattanooga marble and stone quarries did an exceptionally larg trade last month. They ship soen ty-uine carloads of stone during month, each car containing 209 cubS feet of stone. The ramifications this firm are between the lakes the gulf, and the Atlantic and Pa cific. -Sam Jones has been waking upte- . sinners of Tyler, Texas, where he has w' compared dancing girls to tadpoles.I and has greatly offended the ashina able girls by saying that they "lok no more like God Almighty's than a Chinaman looks like a mAne. - kn Arkansas negro plewed up. jug containing $16,000, and in hisjoye ous delirium ran off to town to telloft his find, leaving the jag in the- fila after loading himself with $40 of tlue treasure. When he returned to field the jug had been stolen. -The Tennessee Legislature is ting down to business in good and will probably get through the business before them in lays. -All the towns which have established and boomed in :ounty have added to the growth levelopment of Birmingham. same thing will be true of Annistna rhe larger Oxford, Jacksonville Piedmont boom the het ' il For Annisto - rs. John Outland, who liesn Jackson, Tenn., isaveryold lady, andL 3ame to that country fifty-eight yeeni ago, settling three miles north ofte where she has lived ever since. She says that when she passed Jackson the court house was a--; log hut sitting in one corner ef th present court square, and that thongJ she has lived within three milw'Q Jackson all these years she has no seen the town since. She knows nmust bs a groat deal larger from number of whistles she can hear ing the dinner hour. She is the nt. of a Jarge family of child, en, whowi their children, are tamong Madap active, progressive farmers. ' A Louisiana Plantation4 In 1871 and '72, on the Grevemhe plantation, bayou Teche, parish of~t Mary, there was a colony of working on the share system-twel e~ families, 100 persons, about twnt live work'rg hands, not a negro w~ iug in the colony, in house or i~ They cultivated about 500 Land, twenty acres to the ad sent to market in two seasons worth of sugar and molasses. It would be a large estimate culate the field hands on the tions and farms in Louisiana in at 175,000. The Grevemberg made $800 to the hand for two besides making corn and feedfo teams and poultry and hogs, and of the food for their families. women paid their grocery chickens and eggs and vegetals all the field hands of the State done as well, they would have sent to the market ?140,000,000 worth- C staple produc's besides nmaking riet tobacco, hay, corn, potatoes, peasg beans, vegetables, fruits, etc., for homo< consumption. The doctor's bills, their physician stated, did net exceed $100 a year for the coluny. A Traitor to His State. Ex.-Governor William Holden, of North Carolina, was stricketi withps' alycis at alate hour Saturday *ih~ and his condition is extremelycrtc His health has for several years been. very freble, and he has been unable to - walk much this winter. Four years ago he had a stroke of paralysis. .Ris 'leath is now expected at any hohr. He~ was for a quarter of a century oned of the leading public men in the State.3 He was editor of the Standard adA afterward was appointed jprovisionald governor by President Johnson, and% in 1868S was elected governor. In 18703 he was impeached for high crimes and was convicted and lost his citizenship. He was postmaster here several years. His age is about seventy-five. An Adieu After the Banquet. A good story was told at the expensea of Congressman Ashibel P. Fitch, off New York. Not long ago he received an invited tion to dine with the Hon. Herman -stump,of Maryland, at his residence in Bahimnorer The table was spreadd with all the delicacies of the season. Rare wines were served and there was3 a plentiful supply of champagne. Many of the guests dined not wisely, but too well. As Fitch stood upon the stoop, bidding hs host good night, Mr. Stump said: "Go down carefully, Mr. Fitch. When you get to the feet of the steps' you will see two cabs. Take the fist hue. The other isn't there." En~acounter With Brigands. C os'rA IorLn:, March 13.--A ter rific encouater between Terkish treops and a band of Brigands has takea place es.Ela~sonis. The Turkish troops ascj ceeded in dispersing the Brigands, lost twenty, killed the fight. teBriganas 2 ARP 0N MAT1lMUN L HE THINKS THE PEOPLE MUST BE PROSPERING. The Foundation of This Beliefi,. the Nuin ber of Marriazes Amliong the Yotung Folks.-Menie Recollections. Atlanta Oonstitution. Our people must b, prspering, for the young folks are mating an d marry ing all around us. I- seems to an epidemic or a contagion or so:mething, and the town talk is, "w11o next'' Some of the poetssing sadly about 'uar riage, but most everybody takes a lively interest in. the perform ance, and it looks less like a funeral :han anything I know of. Only a few days ago one of the churches was dressed in bridal robes, and balf the town g-xth ered thes ania to hear and gye good wishes, and every body felt so good, tha they kissed all-round, and they have been talking about the handsome couple and their bright prospects ever since. And there was aother c'ie % esterday at another chui ch, and the young people put in again to lend a helping hand. My youn- fGks stayed at the -hurch all lay, with a whoie flock of chattering birds, and they said they wanted a frame for a wedding bell to hang in the centre of the at ch, and so I had to hunt up an old bird cage and take out the bottom and squash in the top and make it bell shape, and then I got an ld wash pan and cut oul the bottom and turned it upside down and fasten d it securely and made a first class bell frame. The girls covered it with vergreens and roses and used a large alla lily for a clapper, and so it was a ccess and I contributed omy mite to the elysian show. There was nobody rying that I observed, and all went merry as a marriage bell. I like the Episcopal marriage cere meny better than any, execept for ono 1nig that sometimes don't fit the poor ellow when he has to say "With all my worldly goods i thee endow," and >erhaps he. hasn't got anything bum a log and a pocket knife. It reminds me of the ellovwho wanted to quit tis wife and consulted a lawyer as to he division of the assets. "Squire," aid he, "sposin' a feller what had othin' married a gal what had nothin' nd they agree to quit one another, is is things hisen and horn hern-or low?" I married a couple ence. It was hirty-five years age, when I was a udge pf the inferior court and lived ut in the flat woods among the poor blks. They sent for me one night, tnd I walked about a mile to a little og shanty that had but one room aad wo beds and a mud and stick chimney Lnd a great, broad fire place. The 1d woman was baking biscuit and ;ingerbread on the hearth, and' frying hicken and roasting 'taters and mak ng coffee. She had a pipe in her nouth and her daughter had a snuff tick in hers. There were about a lozen of the neighbors standing around he door, and when I said howdy, I sked if the parties were ready: They inted to the girl and said she was, )t Jim hadn't come. In a few minutes in put in his appearance. He was a ugh country boy and chewed his ebacco hard and fast. He was "skeer d," the boys said, and so was I. The ,utsiders came in and Isoon had Jim d Sally before me. I had got my esson pretty well and was proceeding Long to the, close, when suddenly I emembered that the law requir ed me o see the license 'before . performing he ceremony. I paused and said: 'Jim, I forgot. I must see the license efore I proceed." Jim looked bewil lered anti alarmed. Sally put the tick in her mouth. After a tew mo ents of silent embarrassment one of he boys came forward and handed he document and said: "I reckon hat's hit. I forgot to give it to Jim " o I had to begin at the beginning and o it all over again. When I pro :ounced thorn man and wvife the old oman smiled and said: "Jiw, salute he bride-that's the way I was mar ied." Jim gave her a smack that ounded like pulling a s:.op per ou& of m jug and the boys all follov-ed suit, md they looked at me in such a way :hat I took a delicate taste of what :hey had left on her juicy lips. I think ;he enjos ed it, for I was pretty good ooking then. The old woman invited me to sitay o supper, but I excused myself and de' parted those coasts repeatmng those eautiful lines of Tom Moore about narriage: 'And oh, there be an slysiumi on earth It is this-it is this ! A poet cannot disguise his heart, and t is a comfort for woman to know that bhe greatest and purest and best of hem have paid homage rad tributo to he marriage relation. But the man nd the women must be mated as well as married. It is the mismating that rigs so much discredit upon the ic stitution and keeps the young men rom prospering. They are afraid to venture -more afraid than the women. [have known many a girl to keep her lover in tow, but at a respectful dis - tance, hoping for a better catch. After awhile she accepts him as a last resort. Colonel Stanseli told ine to-day of a young married woman who some yea r. ago who came to hnm to p.rocure a divorce. As she was very reticent about stating her grounds ior asking to be separated, he encouragedi her by reading over the various things thas the law expressed, but she said no to all of them. When he pres.sed her for a reason, she blushed anel said she bad married him for fifty, but Lad found out he was seventy-four. The >poor thing had been tempted by his miroerty to throw herself away, but he tightened his -grip, and she wvas neither an old man's darling nor a youg man's slave. How sadly roman tic was Sam Houston's marriage. He was a great man, a grand man; the governor of Tennessee, the friend of IAndrew Jackson. He married a beau tiful and lovely woman, and ;hey had parently every reason in the world t be happy, but shortly after their union he observed that she was not happy, and on pressing her gently for the cause, she told himt frankly that she had married him through pique that she had another lover whomt she had discarded without just cause, and her heart was break~ng. Hous:on never upbraided her. but in a few (days kissed her an affectionate farewell, and left her forever. He wrote her from the Cherokee nation to sue for a divorce, as he had abandoned her. She did so, and was married to her lover the day the divorce was granted. Hous ton married Miss Lee, of Alabama> af terwards, with whom he lived most happily, and they were blessed withi a flock of good children. ut teinga nd1 untieingr are vei-y